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“What are you talking about?” His interest seems too genuine for me not to give him an honest answer.
“The camp is at the mountain, about an hour away through a curvy highway. I’d need to leave here every day around six in the morning to arrive on time and then make my way home around seven. I’d need to see if my sister could pick up Davi at daycare… organize his meals… the list is endless.”
His expression turns serious. “I’m here to help, Melanie.”
He has enough on his plate to come to my rescue. Plus, I don’t need a savior. The fairy tale fantasy isn’t for me. I’m a warrior. I can look out for myself.
“No, David,” I reply with a firm voice. “What are you gonna do? Drive me around the valley with Davi in tow? My father taught me well, and I got my driver’s license at sixteen. Even if it’s exhausting, I can manage.”
His gaze locks on mine. Those dark eyes are trying to say something more powerful than words.
“I have resources, Ella,” he finally says.
“What? I don’t need your money.” He’s crazy. The last thing I want from him is to throw me a couple of bucks in an attempt to make me happy.
“Idohave money,” he replies with no shame. Yep, he’s a millionaire, wearing a T-shirt, and old jeans, cooking dinner for his son and me. “I’m not talking about that, though. I mean connections.”
Mmmm… this is better, but still.
“Yeah, sure. Getting the job just because you know people in the right places… exciting.”
This time he rolls his eyes before giving me an answer. “You’re twisting my words again. If you get the job and really want to say yes, I’ll find a way to make it possible. It’s about paving the way for you, Melanie.”
This man. He’s amazing. His sweetness melts my heart… and my panties. “Would you really do that for me?”
“You know what? I’d hand you the matches and stay by your side while you set the fucking world on fire.” As if the statement needed some emphasis, he leaves the utensil and turns to me. I want him. Badly. He trusts in me more than I do.
God, I want him. Badly.
“Daddy said a really,reallybad word,” Davi giggles. “Again.”
“What bad word?” David asks him while tickling his belly up. “I said ducking. That’s not a bad word.”
“No,” Davi laughs again. “You said fu….”
“Oh look,” David drives our son’s attention to a different subject. “The rice is almost ready. Let’s look for the lid.”
Davi points his little finger to the drawer where all the lids are stored. He knows my kitchen better than anyone. More times than I’d like to count, I found him taking everything out, using the pans as drums, or building castles with my cookware.
We have dinner laughing at Davi’s latest occurrence and stories David tells us about growing up as one of five very rowdy siblings in a mango orchard.
“I like mangoes, right, Mommy?” Davi yawns. Seems like being his father’s sous-chef is exhausting business.
“Of course you do,” David replies. He’s so proud of his boy. “You’re one of us.”
Davi adds nothing, just nods his head solemnly, like saying, fuck yeah, I am.
When Davi goes to bed, my home becomes too quiet, and the tension between the man who has invaded my dreams and me is too thick for this woman to bear.
I find him sitting on the couch, looking at something on his phone. His dark unruly hair rests over his forehead. I want to comb those strands back, preferably while he’s moving inside me, then tug at them when we reach the peak. Together.
What should I do? Climb at him like a tree? Ask him for another ride?
I’m torn between what I want and what I think is the right thing to do when he stands and announces he’s leaving.
“So soon?” Disappointment is evident in my tone. I’d try to keep my hands to myself. We could watch a movie or a tv show.
“Is that an invitation?” he replies with a smirk.
